Memoirs of a Masked Man
by Akisame15
Summary: Based on events in the film adaptation, this collection of memoirs focuses the unseen yet everpresent aspects of the relationship between V and Evey.R&R please!
1. Initial Reactions

**A/N: **Based on the events in the film, not the comic. I thought that this side of V was something that wasn't explored in depth. Hope you enjoy it. x

_**Memoirs of a Masked Man**_

**Initial Reactions**

**I. **There he went, giving that speech; the continuous list of 'v' words. But this time it was different. The shaking form of the girl that was backed up against the cold, stone wall had stirred up so many emotions inside of him that he was finding it difficult to control himself. With his usual flair, he offered her his hand. Electricity bolted through him as their fingers made contact.

It was time to show her what he was truly capable of.

There they were, standing on the roof, alone together, murky view of London stretched out in front of them. Then he spoke those immortal words: "Remember, remember, the fifth of November, the gunpowder treason and plot. I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot." For a moment the girl looked puzzled, lost in her thoughts.

He had promised the girl her own private concert, "it will be like nothing you have ever seen" and by God was she going to get one. "It is to Madame Justice I dedicate this concerto." Then with his usual Thespian mannerisms he waved the baton he had produced out of his cloak pocket and the music of Tchiakovsky's _1812 Overture_ blared out of every speaker in London. The music grew with intensity. "And now, for the crescendo!". The noise of the explosion thundered throughout London. The girl's eyes widened and she gasped as she staggered backwards, watching in horror as The Bailey exploded, and scattered into thousands of pieces.

**II. **Having successfully infiltrated the BTN Broadcasting Centre, and transmitted his message across London,the shadowy figure now stood over the body of the unconscious girl. She had tried to save him. But why was she there? Hadn't they evacuated the building? Apart from his hostages, hadn't everyone else escaped?

He felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't intended for her to get hurt. Yet she had tried to save him. He sighed heavily. What was he going to do now? Leave her?

He hesitated for a moment. What if they found her? What would they do with her? Torture her for information?

His hand tightened into a fist as the vivid pictures of what her future might hold appeared in his mind. Could he continue living knowing that he left her in their already blood-stained hands?

He exhaled slowly. If he took her back with him she would have to live underground for a whole year…could he put her through that? He looked away. But she would be with _him_; the one ray of light in his eternal darkness. Wouldn't that be a better life than living up there surrounded by their lies?

He glanced at her once more. Carefully lifting her body, he covered her in his cloak, and returned home.


	2. Revenge or Her

**A/N:** Sorry you've all had to wait so long. Easter is a really busy time for me, as I'm sure it is for you all, and I've hardly found tiem to write.I went to see the film again for the sake of this fic, and, much to the despair of my friend Emily, I wrote 6 pages of notes! Interstingly, when I was writing this chapter I went onto the Internet Script Database, and read some of the original script for the film, which differs a lot from what actually happens. Well, I hope you like it. This Chapter is dedicated to Emily who had to put up with me scribbling away for 2 hours. LOL. xXx

**2 Revenge or Her**

**I. **So he had rescued her. He had paced the room for what seemed like an eternity, willing her to wake, yet at the same time he wanted her to remain asleep, so that he could just sit and watch her. What was he going to say when she woke? How was he going to explain the predicament that they were now in? Finally he gave in, and silently slipped out of her room, leaving the door slightly ajar. He walked over to his jukebox and selected a song. As the first chords began to play, he lent against the machine, his eyes closed, the soft melody of _Cry Me a River _floating through the air and down the corridors.

He could hear footsteps along the corridor; she was awake. He dashed over to his dressing table, smartening himself up, and quickly brushing his wig. He then disappeared out of sight. The thin frame of the girl appeared in room. He watched as she looked around inquisitively. He then moved into her view.

"What is this place?" she asked quietly.

"This is my home; I call it The Shadowed Gallery," He watched her as she looked around once more. He began to explain where he had acquired all his treasures, thinking he was being impressive, when he noticed the shocked expression on her face.

"You stole them?"

"No, stealing would imply ownership, I merely reacquired them." Her hands flew to her face.

"Oh God, what have I done?" He could see that she was beginning to remember the events at Jordan Tower, assaulting the Detective, defending a masked man she hardly knew. What was he going to say now? What must she be thinking? He began to move towards her.

"Leave me alone!" she backed away from the masked figure approaching her, "Why didn't you just leave me alone!" She turned from him and ran back down the corridor, slamming the door behind her.

Bollocks.

**II.** Having thoroughly messed up yesterday's encounter, he had decided to make it up to her by making breakfast. The smell of eggs on toast and _The Girl from Impanema _had wafted down the corridor, and had brought her into the kitchen. He charmed her with his French, humming along to the tune.

"Your hands…"

He panicked. He had taken his gloves off whilst cooking, now their red and blistered skin was clearly noticeable. Taken by surprise he turned from her and recovered his hands.

"There!" He showed her his black gloves, and returned to his cooking.

"Can I asked what happened?" she asked gently, sensing that it was a delicate subject.

His heart jumped; he would have to tell her sometime.

"There was a fire…ancient history for some," placing the egg carefully on a plate he encouraged her to sit at the table, "would you like tea with your egg?"

She nodded. He watched as she took her first bite.

"I haven't had real butter since I was a little girl! Where did you get it?"

"I stopped a train on route to Chancellor Sutler,"

The girl's eyes widened in amazement, "You stole from Chancellor Sutler! You're mad."

"_I dare do all that may become a man; who dares do more is none**"**_

"Macbeth!" he had struck a note with her; at last something they had in common. She began to talk about her love of acting, how her mother had encouraged her, and how pleased they had both been when she had played Viola in _Twelfth Night_ at the age of twelve. He watched her expressions and marvelled at her beauty.

"Where is your mother now?" he asked casually.

"She's dead," Wrong move.

"I'm sorry," She shrugged her shoulders, trying to push the thought of her mother form her mind. She looked tired, and he suggested that she should go back to her room.

He now sat on his sofa, wondering why he had decide to quote yet another of his infamous phrases:

"People should not be afraid of their governments; governments should be afraid of their people"

Was he determined to fill her head with his ideals? Could he make her his political ally? Maybe he should have left her alone, yet, she was changing him into someone different…he was beginning to see that there was more to his life than the fifth of November.

**III. **Working off his frustration, he fought with the suit of armour, as _The Count of Monte Cristo_ played in all its black-and-white glory on the television set behind him.

He lunged at his 'opponent' laughing as he did so, revelling in his victory, and eventually knocking off his helmet, which rolled across the floor to land at the feet of the girl.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you,"

"I thought you were fighting – for real, " she smiled, then glanced over his shoulder, "what's that?"

"My favourite film: _The Count of Monte Cristo_, with Robert Donat as Edmund Dantes," Pause. "Would you like to watch it?"

"Does it have a happy ending?"  
"As only celluloid can deliver," she smiled at this, and moved with him towards the sofa.

Two hours and twenty minutes later:

"_May we come up?"_

"_No, you find your own tree,"_

The screen went blank. The masked figure turned to the girl.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes," He nodded in agreement. "But I felt sorry for Mercedes."

"Why's that?"

"Because he cared more about revenge than he did about her,"

She had a point. In fact, that was exactly how he was starting to feel about her. He pressed the remote, and switch over to the BTN news channel. He was about to move station, when the girl spotted what he had wanted her to avoid seeing. The presenter was reporting Prothero's death, and they had covered over it well, a little too well. And the girl was smart. In fact, he had forgotten that she had worked for BTN and had consequently seen through what Creedy was trying to cover up.

"She's lying,"

"How do you know?"

"She blinks a lot when she's not telling the truth," she turned to him, her eyes widening once more, "you didn't have anything to do with this, did you?"

He had to be honest with her.

"Yes, I killed him."

"And are you going to kill more people?"

"Yes."

What else could he say to her? Wasn't it better to let her know the full extent of his intentions than lie to her? What was he going to do if she reacted to every move he made in this way? More importantly, how much longer would she be able to cope down here?

**R&R!**


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